


The Thrice Locked Chest

by ladyofrosefire



Series: The Wind Will Have It's Way [1]
Category: Kingkiller Chronicles - Patrick Rothfuss
Genre: I made myself very sad writing this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-21 04:45:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1538093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofrosefire/pseuds/ladyofrosefire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kvothe opens the chest at the foot of his bed and looks at the three objects. Bast watches.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Thrice Locked Chest

When he was sure the Waystone was asleep, Kvothe set his feet on the cold wooden floorboards and padded to the chest. He knelt in front of it and slid the first key into the first lock. The tumblers clicked into place. The second key pushed the tumblers home.

The red haired man stopped when he reached the third lock. It was the one he had not been able to open the first time, he had not wanted to, then. He did now. Kvothe muttered something and the lock opened with a dull thunk.

For several long moments, Kvothe could not bring himself to open the chest. He wanted to just snap the locks shut again and leave the whole thing alone. But he opened the chest. It made a low thnk when it struck the bed frame.

Kvothe pulled the first item from the chest without really looking at it. But his hands were busy. They folded and unfolded the dark material unconsciously, dipping into the tiny pockets on the inside. Finally, he dragged his eyes down to the shaed in his lap. When he did, the corner of his mouth pulled up in a grin. For a moment, it looked as if he was going to throw it over his shoulders. He merely refolded the cloak and set it back in the chest.

The next object was a book. The cover was somewhat battered but the title was still visible; Rhetoric and Logic. His long fingers skimmed over the pages. They were unstained but worn with no dog-ears or blobs of ink. Kvothe flipped the cover open and read the letter on the inside. He was definitely smiling now. But it was not a truly happy smile. Partially happy, yes, but it was mixed with a sort of wry defeat. To the dark haired man in the doorway, it looked like a grimace. Kvothe tucked the book back in the trunk with a huff.

Any remnant of a smile dropped off his face when he saw the last object in the truck. He hadn't even lifted it from the chest yet. When he reached for it, his hands were shaking. Kvothe cursed quietly and stilled them. Then he reached into the Chest and lifted out the last item. Moonlight sunk into the black leather. It wasn't as soft as it used to be, but it was still beautiful. Kvothe picked up an old dampened cloth and stroked it against the leather as if it was his beloved's face. His eyes were closed, his movements slow and practiced.

A drop of silver liquid plonked on the smooth leather. Kvothe cradled the case, turning his head so his tears wouldn't fall on it.

He put the case back in the trunk without opening the catches, carefully nestling it in with the book and cloak. Then he shut the lid. He turned the first key, then the second. When he reached the third lock, he muttered another unintelligible something. Nothing happened. He frowned and muttered again. Still, nothing happened. Angrily, he struck the chest with the flat of his hand. It made a dull whunk.

Still muttering, Kvothe got up and got back into his narrow bed. He pulled the blankets over himself and closed his eyes. He did not sleep for a long time. All the while, the dark haired man watched. Finally, the red haired innkeeper fell into a heavy sleep. Bast stayed outside the door, watching.

He opened his mouth, paused, cleared his throat softly, and then sang in a whisper. "How odd to watch a mortal kindle, then to dwindle, day by day, knowing their bright souls are tinder, and the wind will have its way..."


End file.
